Breathless
by misa los domingos
Summary: Judas catches his breath, until his very last. Includes extra characters not included in the ALW musical but who are in the Bible. Dark themes, may be offensive, but if you're open-minded you'll get it.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Based more on Bible than JC Superstar, but people on this forum seem a bit more open-minded than on the Bible section :)

Ch. i

_...He was the short-winded one, the one whose breath always caught when confronted with the light and God's name [YHWH] it choked him up, and he was destined to suffocate. The others had their ailments: limps, myopia, chronic colic, insomnia, thinning blood, diabetes, and a lot of anxiety. But when you can't breathe..._

"Inevitability," he said to the young one. "Don't forget inevitability."

This little one liked being around Judas just as much as he liked basking in the smile of the Lord. He looked at Judas with fawn's eyes. Judas coughed at the smoke rising from the bonfire and pressed, "you know what I mean?"

And John did know, just not exactly, and only gave Judas this sad, droopy smile. John suffered from seizures.

They were at a stop on their way to Bethany. Whispers among them of "Lazarus, Lazarus," didn't escape Judas but he was too preoccupied with the pounding fears between his ears to pay attention. The authorities pressed upon his chest. He'd frantically formed a tenuous bond, that he now regretted ever forming, between himself and the other eleven chosen, formed of anxiety, from the beginning, because he was the link, he knew. He felt. He connected the others to the real world, the material world. _Assiya._ It made him feel safe, feel relevant, except for when he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"I am your breath," Jesus had once told him. Everything he ever said sounded pretty.

"I just know..." Judas' breath hitched, "something terrible is going to happen. Something they're plotting, or planning..."

Those authorities.

But Jesus had this way of making everything better because his eyes allowed Judas' paranoia to seep inside and for a glorious instant he and Judas could understand one another perfectly. Paranoia shriveled up in the burning fire of love and ecstasy and it was like letting that enormous breath go [YHWH] and resting easy in the flames of spiritual desire.

The stupid fawn ruined Judas' pleasant train of thought by speaking, "do you know, if we pass Bethpage tomorrow..." and John went on about something that Judas knew didn't matter, something nobody would remember to write down, so it would never become important. Judas tore his eyes away from the beautiful embers to the teenager.

"I don't know," he snapped.

John looked sadly at the fire. It made Judas regret his tone.

"I'm feeling nervous," Judas admitted. "I'm sorry."

John frowned. "Well, why don't you do something for the Mother?"

"Hm?"

"Bring her something special! That gives me peace."

Judas' anxiety returned as he stared openly at the young apostle. Here was something he could never factor in, could never understand: John's insistence on Mary of Nazareth's influence. It never resounded with Judas. Why bother with the matron, if she was passive? Mary never talked sense into her son, she just let him be. It's like she didn't care. Like she wasn't anxious. But, oh, how John loved her, doted on her, gave her everything.

"I'd rather take it to the Lord," said Judas.

John shrugged and went back to practicing his writing. Judas poked the fire. That seemed to be the end of that.

The next day was the first time Judas ever saw his Master cry and instead of gasping for air the way he normally did when Jesus did something incredible, he found himself breathing calmly and wondering why he wasn't acting like everyone else. Perhaps it was because he anticipated it was somehow coming. Yes, last night he sensed that something would happen. He pondered the beauty of Almighty God breaking into sobs in the dirt, and he felt suddenly taken far away from the crowd and whirling through space. This time he gasped for air, dreading vertigo. Coming back down, he felt suddenly so needy. But his lord was resurrecting Lazarus and Judas gazed with the rest of the group, witnessing the act of mercy and wishing to be the source of such love one day himself. While most of everybody zeroed in on the newly living Lazarus of Bethany, it was up to Judas, Simon and John to pick up the pieces that were Jesus Messiah, pale and shaking and still reeking of Lazarus' corpse: he coughed, retched, and finally vomited up the lamb they'd all had earlier. And that was the first day Judas saw his Master panic. This made the overly-empathetic Simon freeze up in shock, while John naturally ran off to fetch Mary, leaving Judas, blanched, to hold the Light of the World in a corner, wondering what had happened. Jesus had always been divine, now he was a shaky mess. Jesus always smelled good, now not so much. Judas was not empathetic.

He was outraged.

"What is this?" he whispered, though not unkindly. "Why should the Son of Man be reduced to this?"

This made Jesus sob.

"The Way, the Truth and the Life frightened?" continued Judas, laughing softly, hoping the irony would contagion. "Leave that emotion to your sheep, heart's shepherd."

From nearby, Simon groaned.

Jesus murmured something that no one else would ever hear into Judas' ear: "Do you know, all life begins in a kiss?"

"What?" Judas gasped.

"Think about it," Jesus murmured, before pulling out of his apostle's embrace and looking into his eyes. "So that man would have a living soul, God breathed into him." [YHWH]

Judas didn't know what to say, but he opened his mouth to try. Words failed. Had the Lord have to kiss Lazarus' corpse to life? That would explain the retching...

Jesus, somewhat over his moment of hysteria, smiled shakily. His eyes were sad.

Then Jesus' mother arrived and Judas withdrew, frustrated, shaky, and short of breath. Jesus frowned at the loss of Judas' embrace, but sighed and turned to the queen of his heart, his mother Mary, like a child, a human child.

Who had been who Mary'd had to kiss, then, to have given human life to God? Judas wondered.

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**to be continued... any thoughts/critiques/comments welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** thanx Opal Jaguaress :)

Ch. ii

The situation got progressively worse, Judas' paranoia creeping up on him, his prophetic abilities haunting him like the demons Lord Jesus exorcised. He hadn't been one of the chosen to see Jesus transfigure on the mountain and he wondered why, every day. The only consolation he received was Jesus' words, "the Son of Man will appear in the clouds" and on that day he'd finally understand. But till that day, he didn't know what he'd do. God's will seemed to pinch him back away from all his impulses to connect to those around him that longed for Jesus' healing touch. The blazing sun melting their tears was cruel, and he'd gaze at his Master in consternation. Help them! The flesh, the heart of the people called him.

Then that bitch. That bitch emerged the same night of Lazarus' resurrection, from the women's quarters, with her expensive oil and Judas' mouth slackened. What? After so much toil, with so much at stake, with an underground revolution brewing, this sloppy, mealy-mouthed prostitute Mary of whatever - Magdala or Bethany - no one knew, because no one had known she'd been Lazarus' sister - spent three hundred denarii on sex oil.

"Lord," he reasoned, his gaze directed toward Jesus, incredulous, "Surely, this is... wrong."

"Judas." Reproach.

Judas' stomach clenched. He stuttered. Not enough breath to defend himself properly: "Do you know what we could have done with that money?" I know you do.

"There will always be poor."

Like you need the comfort? Leader. Freedom fighter. Revolutionary?

"I will only be here for so long," Jesus pressed.

Mary's kisses and caresses, all showy acts of devotion, made Judas sick. He stepped out to the star-drenched night and thought about kissing someone to life. What a womanly thing to accept, Lord. Mary of Nazareth spoiled you and you're scared so you can't see the Magdala whore is looking to have a god-child with you, not anoint you for being Lord of the people, she's not who you think.

The cool Judaen air didn't expel the smell of musky oil smell and Judas reflected on how many musky men that bitch had had and how many bloody abortions she must have had. Killer woman. Like Eve.

John appeared and Judas suddenly hated him tremendously.

"What's happening?" he demanded to the teenager, expecting no good answer but asking anyway.

"Judas, please." John's smile was a nervous one. Now he also smelled like that god-damned oil.

Judas ran from him, ran through the town of Bethany, a bit nervous about the Roman guards getting suspicious about a random Jew running about in the middle of the night. He ran till he lost breath and then reached the town rabbi's house. Sighing, he peeked clandestinely through the window and caught a glimpse of the man of the house with his phylacteries on, poring through the texts of old. The Law. If only Jesus embraced the old ways and incorporated them in his ministry. If only he didn't waste time on miracles and confusing anecdotes.

"I believe so much in You," Judas whispered quietly. _I just can't understand why You make it so difficult._

He wasn't sure if he was speaking to YHWH or Jesus of Nazareth.

That same night, he crept into Jesus' sleeping quarters and stared at his sleeping figure in the dim candlelight. He had the face of a leader. He had the voice of an authoritarian. The presence of a people's king. Symphonies would play. John could write tales and sonnets. Simon could champion him to the people. James could convince armies. They had been the chosen to go to the mountain. All right. But Judas...

Judas could be his accountant, his campaigner, his lawyer, the one to soften the message to the Jews of the Sanhedrin, his liaison to the authorities. He could be his speaker. His word.

He lay down beside his master and realized the damned Magdalene oil was drying and Jesus was beginning to smell like himself again: like a human-angel. Like a child. Like a prophet, like a prince of tales.

Like life itself. A little smile began creeping up on Jesus' sleeping face and Judas realized he was awake.

"My zealot," Jesus breathed.

"Do you love me?" Judas blurted.

Jesus' smile turned even more enigmatic, though his eyes were still closed. "You know I love you."

"Care for the sheep, Lord."

Jesus rolled over, eyes open, eyes laughing, and kissed Judas on the cheek.

"I promise."

* * *

**to be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. iii

The entry into Jerusalem was dusty and gold and completely suffocating. Everything smelled horrible, everyone's shouting started to seem like flies buzzing and crows cawing and vultures, the people equally as beastly. Judas knew what Jesus was doing, asking for the young, un-ridden foal. He panicked, that kind of symbolism could only mean trouble, to reference the old texts of Zechariah - _blasphemy_ - and arouse a dangerous sentiment among the people of Jerusalem, who were far more scholarly than those in the little towns and villages they'd frequented before.

Judas didn't like the feeling of Jerusalem, didn't appreciate the black-eyed crowds waving their floppy leaves about like this entry was that of some exciting political diplomat from Rome and not a prince of peace. It was phoney. It was terrifying. What if these people knew the meaning of the foal and had heard and hated everything the Lord represented and this was all just the arranged crescendo before the downward spiral, conducted by the authorities, overseen by Rome's eagle, more wicked then YHWH at His most wrathful? Their cloaks were too bedazzled and it felt like stepping into the drama of death.

James walked by Judas and could sense his unease.

"Do you feel the same way?" Judas asked his companion.

James gave him a ghost of a wink and turned to look upon the hyped up scene of Jesus smiling at the citizens.

Later that day, Judas slipped away and met Caiaphas and Annas, the Pharisees. Judas sensed the extreme dislike, but something about their manner, something about the concern in their eye discussing the future of their people - YHWH's chosen people - struck a chord in the disciple and he found himself breathing laboriously, sweaty, nervous that his Jesus was just too enigmatic for the role of Messiah. That appeal to belong to the world - the chaotic, tragic, violent and beautiful world - rose up in him and he struggled with his feelings as the Pharisees politely asked him about Jesus of Nazareth, about his vision and his intentions, about his awareness that the Jewish race was at a crossroads. And what does your Nazorean plan to do, anyway? Judas didn't know how to respond to the question. It was a good question.

"Enact no violence. Try to bring about a peaceful awareness about Elohim to the people of Jerusalem."

Annas gave him a patronizing, almost pitying look and Judas felt like he would probably pity himself too.

Then the Sabbath came and Judas' Lord wrecked everything he could at the Temple with a beam. Something about the whole absurd picture gave Judas a foreboding feeling, especially because it was a beautiful thing to see a carpenter disband structural pieces so knowingly. Knew all the angles to blow and with what amount of force. Crash. Screech. Cluck. This would not be the last violent instance for Jesus in Jerusalem.

After this, of all of Jesus' group, Mary of Nazareth looked the most terrified. She shook and twisted her hands together repeatedly and murmured things no one understood to herself. Now she must be finally frightened of her progeny.

"Mother," Judas said to her, "you must reason with him."

This was a lost cause, he realized, for Mary of Nazareth had more layers of knowledge than any of them put together and she gazed at Judas like a Queen would a favored troubadour.

"I sacrificed two turtledoves at this Temple thirty and a few years ago. Whiter than alabaster until they were pierced red... all for the will of YHWH. All for the obligation to my little son, born into the race that only knows sacrifice and poverty."

She caressed Judas' cheek and the man finally began to understood what John found so wondrously profound about her. How strange that she be Jesus' mother and not his bride.

She sighed deeply. She pushed up her veil a little, leaned forward, and there, by the distressed Temple, while everyone yelled, while Jesus stood like a child who'd made a terrible mess he didn't know he was capable of, Mary of Nazareth kissed the side of his mouth. Her eyes got that Jesus look in them for an instant, that soaked up all of Judas' paranoia, he realized his Lord had her running all through him, and there was no mistaking it.

* * *

**to be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. iv**

_My Temple is to be a house of prayer._

How do you mean, your Temple? I think I know. I think I know what you mean and I can't believe it. It can't be like that. You can't do it like that. No. No, it's just my paranoia. It's just my demons.

See, if you didn't want me to play a role in this I would never be a perceptive person. So, why do I feel like I should withdraw? Why do I feel like I'm too willful? Why do I feel this way?

What are you looking for from me?

Why won't you _tell me_? I don't have an out in this. I don't see a path to Heaven. Nothing I can grasp, anyway, and we know I always need to know things, need the world in my grasp. I was made this way, I can't be anybody else. I hear what you say to me, but I can't sit with it. I'm sorry, but this is me. Don't tell me I don't love you. Don't tell me I'm like the others. I'm holding on, aren't I? I'm clinging to the thought of you, I can only do so much. You won't let me come closer, otherwise...

Why this way, lord of my heart? Why couldn't I have been a fisherman like Simon, a tax collector like Matthew, a leper, a Pharisee, a prostitute you'd rescued, a Roman, why am I who I am, your representative, your liaison, I am no good! I want to be rescued by you but you won't rescue me, why? It's tearing me apart. I am haunted. Give me something, please. Give... no, don't tell me to give of myself. You have all of me. They have me. I have done... I have been kind. I have forgiven them. I was kind to the Magdala girl after being cruel, she is very sweet. I pray every night for all of us and for those you've yet to heal. Your mother even kissed me. But... you...

He feels a hand slide against his, and knows immediately whose it is, and he's being pulled gently away somewhere private, somewhere with soft darkness and whispered secrets and perhaps there really is a God answering prayers somewhere.

"Judas, talk to me, I need your help," murmurs the voice.

"You won't ask the others?" says Judas, relieved at the attention.

Jesus squeezes his hand.

"Don't be arrogant."

"Look who's talking," Judas whispers. "Everyone thinks you've sinned against the Name that you would claim godhood and tear down the marketplace. But I understand why..." Judas sighs.

"You do?"

"Your body is the Temple."

Jesus relief is so strong it's like he goes completely limp. A sob rises from his throat.

Judas squeezes his hands tightly, bearing the pain gnawing in his gut... so... this is really happening. Really. Really?

"Then Satan is inside me," murmurs Judas, "for all I can say... is how I would do _anything_ to keep you from the pain, the darkness, the complete degradation and the taking of your life."

"I told you my life is not mine to give up," says Jesus.

"Why not?"

"You know."

Judas tenses.

"...What do you need my help for, then?"

"Please... Stay with me. Let's comfort one another."

Judas pulled away. Of course, this would be asked of him: what he couldn't do. To withstand the injustice. To wait and watch with Jesus, until the hour.

"Is it so difficult?" Jesus' tone is mild. Sad.

Judas nods.

"But I'll do it... before I'm swept away by thoughts."

There are so many issues at hand. They are a miasma in poor Judas' mind. A human can only take so much, yes? he thinks. He pulls his darling lord's hand toward the dark alcove they've given him, and for an instant hates those women of the house- Mary, Martha, Salome, all the bitches- because, honestly, Judas has always hated women and why shouldn't he? Eve was at fault for all this. He wants God to fully reveal the evil of women, wants Jesus to pull their hairs back and spit in their face for attempting to touch him, and thus it would be written: the evil female is unworthy. She is the fount of all wickedness. She is a liar and a whore. Rape them, permit them to conceive children and give birth, then kill them while docile nursemaids rear: boys to think and women to submit, until the boys become men and join their fathers and the girls become commodity to sell and fuck.

As if reading his mind, Jesus squeezes his hand.

"Trust in me," he says.

...Or maybe he's referring to Judas' comment about being swept away.

Either way, there's kissing in the dark, and somewhere in the painful suffering of a burning mind, Judas realizes this could be something... else.

"What is it?" Jesus murmurs, stroking his companion's tensed jaw.

"I am so filled with demons," laments Judas.

Jesus looks so disappointed.

"It's become lust," Judas whispers. "I'm sorry."

Jesus nods, looking away pensively.

"Thank you for telling me. Why don't you leave me for now, disciple?"

Jesus ushers him out the door, then weeps in quiet sobs.

* * *

**to be continued in v...**

* * *

uh oh, judas. u gay or wat


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